Wings of Artemis
by thatlassiegotglassed
Summary: A once proud general sold and destined to die in the arena now finds himself a gladiator on the sands. She is his domina, above his station and off limits. But together they might be able to save his son, and escape the shadow of monstrous men who believe in nothing.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I AM SORRY FOR THE GIANT ASS AUTHORS NOTE BUT IM GETTING IT OUT OF THE WAY NOW. What you are getting into: This is a Once Upon a Time AU set to the tune of Spartacus: Blood and Sand. Much of the plot will be the same so if you figure out what character of Once is standing in for what character of Spartacus and you have seen the show please do not put any spoilers in the comments. That is not fair, allow everyone to enjoy equally. The main pairing of this fic will be focused around Rumbelle but I do promise other pairings from OUAT to have a healthy presence. (i.e. Snowing, Frankenwolf, Hook x Milah, Swanfire, Graham x Emma, Hook/The Floor etc. etc.) That last one was a quip. This is intended to be a three part series. I have made some sub-plots my own and things are always subject to change. I do not own Once Upon a Time or the Starz Original Series: Spartacus: Blood and Sand._

* * *

Chapter 1: Prologue

Sword collided with sword. The metal of a mans blade ate at the flesh of another in a cloud of sand and blood as the crowd cheered loudly enough to be heard by the gods themselves. People shouted in tongues, held their fists in the air and demanded more from the horrendous show at their feet.

Belle turned away as another man fell to his knees, begging for mercy as his throat was slit.

"Squeamish, my love?" Gaston took her hand and kissed her knuckles gently, chuckling at her discomfort.

She nodded, continuing to avert her gaze—the sounds were enough to fuel her imagination. She found comfort in moving her hand fan faster and letting the lukewarm breeze wash over her.

"Ruby." Gaston snapped his fingers and a leggy brunette appeared at his side with a small goblet of water—which he gave to his wife. "Better?"

Any response she might have had was cut off as the empress jumped to her feet and cheered along with the crowd. No doubt someone had lost their head.

"I love this game!" Regina called and grinned from ear to ear, lips as red as the blood upon the sand. Belle thought she might vomit. Normally, the games weren't an issue. Thanks to Gaston she had been around them enough to learn the tricks of calming her stomach. But the heat mixed with the less than satisfying water was too much. After the worst summer in a decade, the whole city would have sold their soul for a night of rain.

Regina placed her jewelery laden hands on the edge of the pulvunis, the private box that only the most noble watched the games from, and spoke softly.

"Killian-"

The general looked up, ripped from what appeared to be deep thoughts. "Yes?"

"Bring out the prisoner."

As the bodies of the losers were dragged from the arena, the crowd quieted to a dull roar. The look of satisfaction on Killian's face caused Belle's stomach to knot all over again. When she looked to Gaston for answers, he merely shrugged. Whoever stepped from that gate was about to die a terrible and gruesome death.

* * *

**Two Weeks Earlier**

Tilling dirt was one of the most rewarding experiences. It was honest man's work; it filled ones soul and eventually filled ones rumbling stomach. The day was young and the sun had barely crested the hill. Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath of the crisp, clean air and smiled to himself. Land as far as the eye could see and it finally belonged to him. His farmland was outside the edges of the city, rolling hills dipped and joined together in one large valley that was protected from the winds of the north seas. It was spring and he had chosen his favorite spot to start his garden.

On the small mound of land due west of his home, too small to be called a hill but too large to be mistaken for a simple pile of mud, a lone tree stood, rooted firmly and gnarled by years of weathering. That tree stood for life, his life; it was by that tree that he had met Bae's mother and after her passing his boy was now his whole world. It seemed fitting that starting his garden, his first act after leaving the emperor's army, was to be put under that tree.

He ran his fingers over the carving of the tree marking where Bae's mother now lay. He missed her but had made peace with the gods for taking her; Bae needed him, they needed each other and that was what was important.

"Papa."

He looked over his shoulder at his son, as the younger man topped the hill at a run. His dark hair a mess as usual, eyes wide and lips parted with words fresh on his tongue.

"Papa, the soldiers are here. They need you in the village." Bae said with a long intake of breath. Rumplestiltskin sighed and looked once more to the carving in the tree before picking up his plowing stick and shaking his head.

"That's not my life son. Not anymore." He answered grimly as he began busying himself with the upturning of the earth at his feet. Since he was a young man, the call of battle had been his greatest temptress. Swords and steeds, battle cries and strategy were his calling for many years and he had loved every second of it. Only when his son was born did his life of danger begin to slow and once Jupiter had taken his beloved, well, it had stopped completely. He had turned in his sword, half a life time before that of his fellow men and had hung his shield on the hearth along with his memories of long forgotten victories.

"They're not leaving," Bae twisted his hands anxiously. "They're speaking about the war, Papa. What if they draft the village—the children?"

Rumplestiltskin stopped and leaned his rake against the tree. This couldn't happen. No, he wouldn't let it happen. The Legatis and his army could take their war and bloodshed somewhere else and he would see to it. He picked up his cloak and walked down the hill at a canter with his son by his side. Once having held rank in the war against the mountain savages, the village trusted him, gave him enough position that he could advise but he wasn't troubled by council meetings or counting of the gold. He would do what he could for the children of the town but Bae was his first priority. The empire would get his son in their ranks over his own dead body.

The small enclosed square in the center of the city was crowded. Men stood shouting over one another as the women lingered by the wall and fountain and watched, keeping careful eyes on their little ones. The Legatis stood on the small dais in the center of the crowd and tried to have his voice heard over the angry towns people.

"Everyone, everyone, calm yourselves." With an extended arm, he called for order and it worked to a certain extent.

Rumplestiltskin moved his way through the masses until he was in a proper range to speak with the officer and the other council members of the city.

Killian Jones was as handsome as he was pompous. His red cloak was made of material no one in this city could ever dream of owning, let alone wearing where it could collect mud and dirt from daily travel. His breast plate was a shiny copper that lit his face with the setting sun—a strong face, with ebony hair and facial scruff to match. In the country only the very poor did not shave, but in the capitol it was becoming a trend and Killian was certainly taking part.

"The mongrels in the north are rising up again. It is only a matter of time before they are knocking on your very doors." He moved his cloak behind his shoulder and continued. "The Empire offers itself to-"

"Yeah and the last time Rome so graciously offered her help it wiped out half our numbers. You've pushed into our lands, now you offer your help—hand extended?"

One of the older men in the front of the crowd yelled out and the cheers of agreement rang true. Killian lowered his hand and said something to the lieutenant at his side before forcing his face to remain pleasant.

"The last war was unfortunate. But this time we are prepared. This time we both want the same thing." He reached back and grabbed a scroll before handing it to the council elder. "Align yourself with Rome and I can promise you we will give you what you desire."

The yelling started again as the aged man took the parchment and Rumplestilskin spoke above the crowd, "And what would that be!" The people quieted slowly and turned to the retired soldier. "And what," he cleared his throat as he repeated himself, "would that be?"

Baelfire shifted by Rumplestiltskin's side and he touched his arm in reassurance. He was not afraid of these metal plated men—that's all they were anyway—men.

Killian watched him with dark blue eyes, fierce as the sea he rode in from and memorized his face. The face of the man who dared to question him. "Victory," he said flatly. "For both of us."

"We've handled the ogres before. They've burned our cities, raped our women and murdered our children. And where was Rome?" Rumplestiltskin pressed. "If we fight with you, then our purpose must be clear."

"And that would be?" Killian raised an eyebrow to the sky and crossed his arms.

"The ogres dead-" he paused and mirrored the general's stance. "All of them."

Killian observed the angry towns people and had suddenly lost faith in the handful of men he had brought into the city. How dare this lowlife question him? He nodded once. "Agreed. Dead. All of them."

* * *

Rumplestiltskin walked into his dirt floor, one room shack to find his son kneeling by the fireplace—eyes closed in deep though. As the door shut, Bae spoke.

"So the council has decided?"

"We have," Rumplestiltskin took off his cloak and set to work on unlacing his moccasins. "We go to war."

Bae heaved a heavy sigh and rose. It was foolish to argue, both knew it. He handed his father his sword hesitantly. "I asked the gods to bless your sword."

He took the blade from his boy and turned it over gently, admiring its glint in the firelight. How he wished he could take the hurt from Bae's eyes. He wished that he wasn't a man of his word and he could tell the Romans to go fuck themselves. But everyone knew—to challenge Rome was a death wish.

"Once the ogres have been eliminated—I'll have no need of a sword." He said sheepishly as he propped it against the wall.

Bae laughed, short and bitter. "And what would my father do without it in his hands?"

"Farm. Drink and watch you raise my eventual grandchildren."

"Papa," Bae groaned. "Be serious."

The silence fell between them. One idly stoking the fire while the other whittled a small chunk of wood into kindling. It was uncomfortable and Rumple couldn't help but still his hands and watch his only child. Bae was a good foot taller than he was now. Dark hair and dark eyes—just like his mother. With a wit and a sharp tongue to rival that of his old man. They scraped by and dreamed of bigger and better things—it all amounted to very little, but at least they had each other.

"I dreamed this you know," Bae looked up. "Before Killian's men even came."

Rumpletiltskin fought not to roll his eyes. When it came to the gods and superstition, his wife had warped the boy's mind. Personally, Rumplestiltskin wanted nothing more than to piss on the gods—they had never done him any favors. He stayed quiet and let his son continue.

"I dreamed you went to Rome. And do you know what I saw?"

"What?" He tried to look interested but was almost sure he was failing.

Bae swallowed hard, looking at the fire and prodding the embers with a long stick. "I saw my father on his knees—before a great red serpent. Papa, if you go to Rome—you are destined for great and unfortunate things but-"

Rumplestiltskin couldn't stand it anymore. He dropped to the floor beside Bae and grabbed his shoulders gently. "Stop—stop. The ogres worship the wolf—they place no faith in snakes. I promise, I will come home."

Bae hugged him tightly, nodding and biting his lip. As much as it pained him to leave Bae behind, they both understood, should something happen, no one could run the town like the son of Rumplestiltskin.

"Kill them all." Bae said quietly as the fire popped softly in the distance.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin didn't sleep. And now huddled in his cloak, standing in the dark and waiting on the general—his mood was not improving. Bae had gotten up early to see him off and now sat hunched on a stump, fighting back yawns. The men were growing restless. Swords and straps were readjusted, others paced and only a handful gave a voice to their annoyance. Finally, the sound of hooves reached their ears and Killian trotted from the early morning shadows.

"Ah, yes," Killian pulled up on the reigns. "So glad you made it."

Rumplestiltskin snarled. Bae touched his arm and his anger faded. His son took off his necklace and dropped it over his father's head. It was a simple thing—a small strap of leather, knotted in the middle, but it made his heart feel as if someone was crushing it inside their fist.

"I'll make sure everything is ready for your return." Bae said as they broke apart from their hug.

He nodded, turning his back as Bae walked away, out of the way but still close enough to watch.

"I will wait for none of you. If we start now then at nightfall we can make camp. Don't fall behind." Killian barked and turned his horse.

Rumplestiltskin's brows furrowed in confusion. "Legatis?" Killian paused. "I believe you're going the wrong way. We should march West—to intercept the ogres."

"You're right. But first-" he smirked. "We go East. To challenge Mithridates."

Rumplestiltskin felt his blood begin to boil. Mithridates was not a threat to his people. The only threat the other general posed was to Killian and his ego. "If we go East, to help in your power play—that leaves my people unprotected from the real threat. And that is not what I signed up for."

"Well you see," Killian walked his horse beside Rumplestiltskin and looked down. "You aligned yourself with Rome. And I am her body and voice. You will do as I command."

"But my people-"

"I don't care about your people. We march East."

The wind had quieted as everyone waited with baited breath while the opposing captains held their ground. A few men from each side drew their swords and Rumplestiltskin looked away first to calm his men. He opened his mouth to tell them all to stand down and Killian's stallion reared.

The beast pawed the air, tossing it's rider to the mud and Rumplestiltskin grabbed the flailing reigns with wide eyes. In a matter of seconds, metal clanged against metal, men grunted and the fight had begun. As Killian clambered to his feet, perfect hair hanging in his face, looking deranged, he shouted for order. It was nothing for his highly trained men to subdue the less than adequate warriors of the village and he waited for the noise to quiet before turning on Rumplestiltskin.

"How dare you?" He growled, drawing his sword and shoving it under Rumplestiltskin's chin.

Rumplestiltskin dropped the reigns and stood his ground. "Killian-"

"I am your Legatis!" Killian roared, pushing the sword further just enough to nick the skin above his Adams apple.

"Legatis-" He tried again. It had been a misunderstanding. Nothing more than poor timing. But Rumplestiltskin suddenly felt he had started a war that he did not want to finish.

Killian breathed heavily, wisps of cold air blowing from his nostrils like an angry dragon as he glanced at his own men, moving his neck in a choppy fashion that must have hurt. "You will pay for this."

Rumplestiltskin started forward and Killian brought the handle of his sword down sharply on his jaw. He fell on all fours practically on top of Killian's boots. His face ached sharply as he tried to steady his now blurry vision. How had things gone this wrong? He had to stop this. Had to make the Legatis see reason. But his reasonable thoughts diminished as Killian spoke again.

"Take the boy."

"No!" He yelled for Bae, and his son returned his agony as the guards pulled them farther apart. He tried to get to his feet but Killian brought his boot down hard on the front of his face and everything went black.


	2. The Great Red Serpent

Chapter 2: The Great Red Serpent

Killian was hot, his cloak stuck to him in the most unpleasant way and he ripped it from his shoulders and hurled it to the ground. The stack of scrolls and the ink well on the table were not safe from his wrath as he used a large hand to shove it all to the floor. With a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and composed himself.

On the balcony, through the whispering silk curtains, he saw the outline of a tall, curvacious creature—one he desired to see more than anything. He stood behind her, sweeping her dark curls to one side and dipping his hand down the curve of her neck.

"Killian," she gasped as she turned and clutched him. Hands cupped his face as she captured his lips and barely gave him time to breathe.

"What if I had been an assassin?" he joked against her mouth, arms winding around her. She laughed, clear and soft before showering his cheeks and jaw with affection as well.

"Regina's here, to speak about tomorrow. But stepped away for the moment," she cautioned as he undid the knot on the front of her dress.

"Is she? Well that's plenty of time-"

"She's not happy with you."

He froze, eyebrows drawing together as he released her to refasten her clothes. He bit the inside of his cheek, wondering what could bring about and more importantly defuse the Empress' rage. "And what about you, Milah?"

"I missed my husband, terribly," she said putting his face between her hands. "But, fear your return has come too quickly."

Killian watched her face fall and pulled away, placing his hands on the stone of the balcony that overlooked the city. "The games Regina is putting on, they start tomorrow?"

"That's why she's here. Putting the last touches on a few preparations." Milah said as she stroked her nails through the side of his hair.

"I'd like a word with her." Killian said flatly, scowling at the streets below.

"It-" she let out a breath and continued as gently as she could. "It will take more than that to regain her favor. There are whispers, my love—whispers of your-" she swallowed hard and rephrased. "Mishap, in the mountains."

That fucking Thracian. Killian's blood began to boil at the mere thought that word had already reached the capitol of how he couldn't handle the likes of an untrained farmer and his village. He felt like a fool.

"I'll fix that." He mumbled. "Their _whispers_," he spat the phrase and turned his head to look at her. "Won't be heard over the cheers of a crowd."

"Cheers? And how will you manage that?"

"By giving them something they have never seen," he raised from the ledge. "Thracian blood, spilled in the arena." His lips twisted up in a smirk as he thought of Rumplestiltskin and his upcoming demise. No one humiliated Killian Jones and got away with it. Watching the likes of that poor excuse for a soldier lose his head in tomorrow's games would prove it to everyone.

"You brought them back? The Thracians?" Milah smirked as Killian nodded. Her eyes darkened in a way that made Killian's chest tight with affection as she slid her hands up his chest and spoke word of the plan that was already in his head. "Regina does love her games. Win the heart of the crowd and the senate is sure to follow?"

"Precisely." Killian added. He gripped her by the neck and pulled her flush against his chest to remove the smirk from her lips with his own.

* * *

The party was like any other. Burning plates of expensive oils were in every corner and gave the pillars and tiled walls a private, yet inviting glow. The small, rectangular foot-pools in the middle of the hall were filled with water, no doubt carried for miles on the backs of a hundred servants, and rose petals floated on top. The prettiest of servants, adorned with gold circlets and masks of the sacred goddesses, lounged naked in the pools and around the room for decoration, and possibly entertainment.

Regina Mills, Empress of the entire city, let the train of her dress fall to the floor as she raised her arms and addressed her guests. "Good people of Capua," she flicked her hands and the chimes of her bangles drew everyone's attention to her face. "This year has been most difficult, and I welcome you all to celebrate with food, water, and the gift of blood—spilled in tomorrow's games. Under my reign, know you are not alone."

Polite applause and agreement came from her speech and Gaston mumbled into his goblet, "Well, she's certainly full of herself now, isn't she?"

"Gaston," Belle warned and touched his arm.

"Sorry, my dear." He smiled and leaned over to brush his lips against her cheek. Her face warmed and she fought her smile. The wine on his breath was obvious and she knew all to well how it always seemed to loosen his tongue and his opinions on the Empress. "She's just—awful." He scrunched his nose and Belle laughed softly.

"If you want the seat in the Senate, you are going to have to deal with her." Belle said and Gaston set his glass down. "You should be grateful. I spoke with the Empress. She's invited us to sit in the pulvunis tomorrow."

"You're joking?" Gaston looked at her with wide eyes.

"I never joke," Belle smiled into her glass.

"Well, well—my wife, always more brilliant than I realize," He looked at her gently, staring at her quietly until she looked back at him and blushed. It made him smile more.

"Your flattery will get you nowhere." She smiled and he kissed her cheek again.

"Don't I know it."

"Gaston!" The Empress called and the room quieted. Belle turned along with her husband to the woman in the center.

"Yes, your grace?"

"What did the noble house of Gaston bring for tomorrow's festivities?"

"Ahh," Gaston gave Belle's hand a squeeze and left her side, he snapped his fingers and brought in two fierce-looking warriors. "Good people of the city, from my house I give you Mulan, the banshee of Carthage."

Gaston gestured to his right, so the crowd could gape at the woman. It was rare for a woman to be placed in the arena and not in the house but Gaston knew what he was doing. Dressed in leather sheaths and minimal armor to show off her muscular body, Mulan looked as deadly as she actually was.

"And I also present, Victor, the undefeated Gaul, a true champion in the arena." Gaston motioned to his left to showcase an equally vicious looking gladiator, with cropped blonde hair. Victor glared at the crowd and flexed his chest by barely moving his arms—a few women swooned.

Regina nodded her praise, "Thank you, Gaston. I'm sure they'll both do well, tomorrow."

"Go back outside and wait for me," Gaston said sternly to Victor and he nodded before following orders.

Regina waited for the talking to settle before speaking again, "And now, on his return from the savage lands of Thrace, I welcome the Legatis, Killian Jones and what he brings for tomorrow's main event."

Belle watched as the Legatis marched in a handful of prisoners. She set down her goblet, the wine leaving a sour taste in her mouth as the general and his men forced the ratty, sludge covered Thracians to their knees.

He talked up his prisoners in a way that brought shame to Gaston's offering to the games and Belle could feel her husband fuming beside her.

"That man's only station is through his wife's good name." Gaston popped a grape into his mouth and chewed like the fruit had given him a personal grievance.

"Be still," Belle warned as the prisoners were dragged from the hall and the Empress' hugged Milah.

"That snake of a woman has her hand in all the proper assholes. She wiggles her fingers and everyone shits gold."

"Don't be crude!" Belle hushed him and took his goblet, she looped her arm through his and turned him forcefully as Killian approached.

Killian was dressed to impress, brass breast plate freshly polished and and sword gleaming in his sheath. His face was smug and Belle felt her nails dig into Gaston's arm before he even spoke.

"Ahh! Legatis," Gaston gave a short bow of his head. "I was just marveling at your property." He gestured to where the Thracians stood before and gave one of the least genuine smiles Belle had ever seen.

"As I marvel at yours." Killian sipped from his glass and gazed down the length of Belle's body.

"Excuse you?" Belle said, letting go of Gaston.

"Watch yourself, Killian." Gaston continued with his well-practiced smile. "Tomorrow's games should be a delight," He quickly changed the subject and put his arm around Belle gently. "We will see you bright and early—the Empress has invited us to sit in the pulvinis."

"Has she now? With such unimpressive stock—how much did that cost you?" Killian laughed, a short bark of mockery before nudging Gaston's shoulder. "I'm only joking, mate. Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow." Gaston gave a short bow.

"My lady." Killian bowed to Belle before sweeping his cloak to the side and going off into the mingling crowd.

"One day," Gaston said quietly, gripping his goblet hard enough his fingers turned white. "I shall see his heart parted from his arrogant chest."

"And-and I shall grip the knife," Belle whispered, raising up to brush her lips against his cheek. The words made Gaston's shoulders relax as he looked at her. Even if he knew his darling wife would never have blood on her hands, he loved hearing her speak that way-especially when it came to Killian Jones.

* * *

**_The day of the games_**

The stomping of the crowd above him caused sand to sift through the cracks. Rumplestiltskin kept his head down so none of it would get into his eyes. His hands shook in their shackles as he thought of what awaited him outside the door of his cell.

He had spent countless days and nights in the belly of a ship as the Romans transferred himself and a handful of his people from Thrace to the Capitol. Still damp, and reeking of salt water, death and shit, he clenched his fists until he thought they would break. He still had no idea what had become of Bae and one by one his brothers fell in the arena above him.

Blood dripped through the wooden boards and he scrambled out from under it as a few drops landed on his face. There was another roar of the crowd and Rumplestiltskin fought not to vomit the bile in his empty stomach.

"Thracian!" A voice barked as the door to his cell swung open and he was hauled to his feet. He feebly tried to rip his arms from their grasps, seeing the corpses of mutilated slaves along the corridor of holding cells.

"No, stop," he said. "My son-" The guard guided him up the ramp and stopped outside the iron bars of the arena to unlock his shackles. The people in the stands were deafening as a poor excuse for a sword was shoved into his hands and he was pushed onto the sands of the arena.

Rumplestiltskin got to his feet slowly, leather handle finding its way into his grasp like it was second nature and his heart began to race once the door slammed shut behind him.

"People of Capua!"

He looked to the balcony and could barely make out a woman, in rich robes of purple and gold, extending her arms to her audience. Her dark hair was piled high onto of her head in an intricate halo of curls and metal fragments that reflected the sun as much as the other jewelry on her body.

He thought of the night before, paraded in front of dozens of women who looked just like her, who gorged themselves on fruit and drink and glittered more than any he had seen in his homeland. Last night he had seen many wonders and as he watched one of his brothers dragged from the dirt in a trail of blood, he figured he would never see such wonders again.

Regina continued. "As always, we've saved the best for last. I give you, your Thracian traitor." The crowd booed and she smirked.

Rumplestiltskin watched closely as a well armored man entered the arena and stood opposite of him. As he gripped his short sword and dug his ripping, cloth-sandles into the dirt, it hardly seemed fair. He jerked his head in multiple directions as the doors opened on either side of him and out walked another handful of soldiers. They carried spears, nets and one even held an ax and they smirked as he turned panicked circles in the sand—he was to fight them all.

Belle gripped Gastons hand and fanned herself so hard, her hand fan flew from her wrist. She felt sick as Ruby bent to gather it and turned from the scene in the arena. "This does not seem fair. Surely-"

"It's not about what is fair, my lady." Killian sneered. "He is to be humiliated—that is all."

"Gaston-" She tried and he shook his head, refusing to look at her.

"What would you like me to do?" He said, helplessly and she quieted.

Rumplestiltskin's heart sank as the woman in the pulvunis yelled 'begin' and the crowd was on its feet. The men came at him, teeth bared and weapons at the ready and he took them all in stride. Arms and legs riddle with fatigue and weeks of scraps at sea his reflexes were slow and his back bowed with every blow and jab.

He sliced, he slashed, he did all he could for each breath as he managed to take down one of them with a slash to the throat.

"Is that all you got, you Thracian dog?" The larger one said as he held his shield in front of his body.

Rumplestiltskin paused, heart hammering against his chest as his gaze fell to the image on the shield. It was well-worn and crudely drawn but there was no denying it was a large, red, snake.

_'Kill them all.'_

Bae's words rang quietly through his mind and he gripped his sword tightly. He thought of his son being ripped from him, his mind raced with all the things that the Legatis could have done or order his men to do to Bae while he was chained in the middle of the sea. And it was enough. The thought of Bae was enough to propel him forward and knock the shield from the soldier's hands.

His mind went black as he swung and lashed and felt flesh give under the weight of his blade. The cheers and gasps and noise of the people around him only fueled his actions as he littered the dirt woth the blood of men who wanted nothing more than to see him dead at their feet.

When he finally came back to himself the soldiers were at his feet, unmoving and covered in splashes of grit and blood. One slowly crawled for the door, away from Rumplestilstkin and he was more than happy to put his blade through the back of his neck and help the coward on his way to the afterlife.

With a savage mind and racing pulse, he threw down his sword and was surprised to hear the crowd not screaming but chanting. The chant grew louder with each passing moment as a thousand tongues said in unison, _"live, live, live"._

Regina sat back and laughed, a wickedly pleased howl as she steepled her hands in front of her face. "Well, this was certainly unexpected."

Milah turned from her enraged husband and gawked at the Empress, "You aren't considering giving into their request, are you?"

"The crowd knows what it wants. And to go against the people is foolish, something you'll learn once you have a position of power." She snarled.

"He gave me grievance, I will not see him set free!" Killian slammed his fist down on the arm of his seat and Belle jumped.

"Gaston, Gaston do something-" she whispered frantically before she could stop herself.

"A solution perhaps?" Gaston was quick to offer and everyone turned in his direction. Belle didn't expect him to appease her so easily and she lost her grip on his hand as he leaned forward.

"Yes?" Regina tilted her head.

"What if I were to buy him?"

"What!" Killian stood and Regina held her hand up to silence him.

Gaston continued, "I would take him back to my ludus and train him along with my other gladiators. It would please the crowd that he was allowed to live and you would make a small amount of coin from it."

"No. Absolutely not-" Killian shook his head and Gaston cut him off.

"I've been at this for many years, Killian. I would say he won't last a fortnight once put to the test by the rest of my titans. Everybody wins."

Regina was quiet for a moment before nodding slowly, a black, polished nail tapping the tip of her chin. "I like it. Well done, Gaston." She stood swiftly and raised her arms again calling for silence. When the crowd calmed, waiting with baited breath for her orders she tilted her hand and gave a thumbs up.

The applause was enough to shake the walls within the Colosseum, an almost deafening out cry of happiness that put a smile on Regina's lips. Killian stood and stormed from the balcony without another word.

Milah gathered her dress and stopped beside Belle and Gaston, to give them a proper glare. Belle was unaffected, she stared out onto the sands and her heart went out to the nameless Thracian. She may have helped save him from death, but how was that any better than a future in the arena?


End file.
